


The Flight of Talitha

by Michea



Category: The Phantom of the Opera
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-30
Updated: 2011-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michea/pseuds/Michea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1885.  Four years have passed since the unfortunate events at the Opera Populaire, and the disappearance of the infamous Phantom of the Opera.<br/>The Phantom has fled to London and taken up residence in the sub-basement of a small theatre.  One night a young street urchin and prostitute, Talitha, stumbles upon his lair in her flight from a pair of would-be rapists.<br/>What follows is a journey of discovery for both of them as the Phantom fights to exorcise the ghosts and demons of his past; and Talitha struggles to rise above her lot in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flight of Talitha

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Chapter 1 – Early Autumn 1885   
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****

****

The girl crouched, one hand to her pounding breast, the other curled around the wrought-iron bars of the gate.  The men’s voices drew closer, shouting and laughing, calling out to her.  She held her breath as they staggered down the alley past her hiding place.

 

“C’mon love!”  One of them shouted.  The girl started – the voice sounded close.  “I’ve a pretty penny here for you!  Don’t you want a pretty penny?  Sure as its pay-day for me it’s pay-day for you, if you wish it!”

 

“Aye!”  Called another voice.  “Are you hungry?  I’ve a tasty sausage for you too!”  The first man guffawed at this, and the girl heard a hearty slap as he congratulated his friend for the pun.

 

“Girly?”  Called the first voice once he had recovered from his hilarity.  “Little Missy?  Come, come!  Beggars can’t be choosers!”

 

 _Go away!_   The girl thought fiercely.  _You’ll not be having me tonight, or any other night!  Low as I am, I’ll not be had by a gutter-rat such as yourself_.  She listened as the footsteps continued on, staggering further toward the main street, the gas-lamps and other girls.  One of them growled to the other and the girl made out the words “easier lays” before the voices faded altogether and she was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

 

Talitha rested her forehead against the cool iron bars and closed her eyes.  _This must stop_ , she told herself.  The men were getting rougher.  The girls were getting hurt.  Why just last night young Mary had been beaten black and blue and for what?  For protesting when a fourth gentleman stepped up to take his turn with her?  Mary was fourteen years old, barely a woman, and it had been a miracle she’d survived the night, poor thing.  Who was next?

 

Talitha peeked around the side of the gate and down the alley.  The men were long gone, but more were out there.  And they knew where the girls squatted, if they couldn’t find any on the street they’d simply come to the house.  She turned and peered into the darkness beyond the doorway which was her hiding place.  The blackness was absolute, but there was a feeling of space.  Perhaps space enough to hide for the night?

 

Checking the alley again, Talitha emerged from her hiding place and examined the small bulls-eye lantern hanging from its hook near the doorway.  It was unlit, but a taper of flame taken from the gas-lamp in the street would remedy that.  Then she took a closer look at the building against which she’d been sheltering. 

 

“A theatre?”  She breathed.  Surely there would be plenty of dry, safe hiding places within the catacombs of such a structure.  The wrought iron gate closed off a sunken side-entrance of the theatre to the alley, more of an emergency rabbit-run than a true entrance that any member of the public could use. And the gate had been left unlocked.  Thank goodness.

 

Kicking off her heeled slippers, Talitha grasped the lamp pole in front of the theatre and used the soles of her bare feet to push her tiny frame towards the lamp.  Within minutes she had ignited a splinter of wood and returned to the ground to light the lantern.  She replaced her slippers and darted back behind the wrought iron gate with the lantern and into the black tunnel.

 

Under the theatre, the floor sloped downwards.  The air was fresh enough, the corridor drafty and colder than the street above. Talitha shivered, drawing her threadbare shawl around her thin shoulders.  She moved along downward-sloping corridors, picked her way down narrow stone staircases and began to notice a change in the temperature.  It was becoming warmer.  And there was a light up ahead.  She doused the lantern.

 

At the end of a corridor almost as narrow as Talitha was herself, she found a wooden door.  Light and warmth emanated from it, and she touched it furtively.  Soundlessly the door swung inward, and Talitha gasped.

 

In what must have been a sub-basement of the old theatre, there appeared to be a make-shift apartment.  Mismatched but somehow pleasantly comfortable looking furniture was arranged around a fireplace – the source of the warmth and light.  Talitha hurried over to warm her frozen hands and as the heat slowly soaked into her cold limbs, she turned and studied the room.  Here was a broken but still functional mirror, there a battered grand piano.  Candelabra were scattered seemingly at random: some lit, others cold.  A pile of cushions and sumptuous cloth lay in one corner, giving the impression of a nest… for it could hardly be called a bed, but it looked so soft and warm and inviting.  There was a table and three mismatched chairs – one far more beautiful than the others, covered in gilt with a scarlet velvet cushion.

 

On a beautifully carved bureau was a small collection of knick knacks:  a silver compass, a perfectly dried red rose tied with a black satin ribbon, a silver jewelry box, a single pink satin ballet slipper.  Talitha lifted the slipper, tracing the initials stitched inside with her finger:  _C.D._

 

With a start, Talitha realized she was no longer alone.  She dropped the slipper and turned, the fabric of her skirt rustling against the bureau to behold a cloaked figure standing by the door.

 

“Forgive me sir,” she began in a rush, moving towards the figure with her hands raised.  “I became lost in the catacombs and stumbled upon your… home.”  She glanced around.  Yes, surely this was a home, of sorts.  “I…”

 

Talitha trailed off as she turned back to the stranger.  She’d caught him in the act of removing the hooded cloak in a swirl of ebony fabric, revealing raven hair caught at the nape with a velvet ribbon, one sparkling blue eye set in half the face of an angel… the other eye and half of the face obscured by a porcelain mask.  She swallowed and tried again.

 

“I… didn’t mean to intrude sir,” she managed.  “I’ll be on my way…”

 

“Stay.”

 

The voice of an angel as well.

 

“Sir?”

 

The man gestured towards the seating arranged around the fireplace and grimaced, as though trying to smile without really knowing how.

 

“Stay,” he repeated.  “Warm yourself.  Share a cup of sweet wine with me.”

 

“Of… of course,” Talitha murmured.  She sank down into one of the chairs, watching the striking stranger warily.  He moved gracefully, removing his jacket as well before pouring dark wine from a carafe into two silver goblets.  He was dressed as though freshly returned from an evening gala, or a ball: snug black trousers, black waistcoat over a pleated white dress-shirt, white bow-tie which he had loosened.  A masquerade ball, perhaps.  His pale, slender hands placed the goblets on a silver tray noiselessly and he moved, ghost-like, to serve the wine before taking the seat opposite Talitha.

 

The stranger raised his goblet, inclined his head slightly as though speaking a toast in his mind alone, and sipped his wine, never taking his eye from Talitha’s face.  Talitha mimed drinking her own wine, not trusting the stranger enough to swallow any beverage he offered.

 

“It is impolite to refuse the hospitality of refreshments when they are offered, Miss…?”

 

“Talitha,” Talitha whispered.  She sipped the wine, swallowed, allowing the spiced brew to trickle down her throat and warm her insides.  The stranger grimaced again, his one eye twinkling, and Talitha understood this _was_ his smile.

 

“And do you claim only one name… Talitha?”  The stranger murmured, and Talitha shuddered delicately to hear her name spoken with such… such suggestion.  To hear her name on lips she now realized were full and sensuous and utterly perfect.

 

 _Whatever is wrong with me?_   She chided herself, looking away from the stranger’s burning gaze to collect her thoughts.

 

“My father’s name is not something I reveal to a… gentleman on first meeting,” she managed.  “And how should I address you?  Or should I simply continue to call you ‘sir’?”

 

“I have many names and no name,” said the stranger.  “Opera Ghost.  Phantom.  Angel of Music…”

 

“Angel of Music…” Talitha breathed, glancing at the piano.  She did not see the expression of deep sadness which crossed the stranger’s face as she repeated the final name.  “Well, that simply won’t do!”  She said.  “Opera Ghost?  Phantom?  Am I to address you as ‘Phantom’ while you call me ‘Talitha’ as though you’d known me all my life?”

 

The stranger frowned.  “Impudent child,” he murmured.

 

“Surely your mother named you as you suckled at her breast?”

 

The stranger’s frown deepened.  “My mother…” he began.  “My mother’s fear and loathing of me forced me from her breast as a new-born babe.  If she named me anything, I have forgotten through the years…” he trailed off and stared at Talitha as though seeing her for the first time.

 

“Phantom then,” said Talitha, regarding him carefully, certain he was speaking in half-truths in spite of knowing him barely five minutes.  His one eye cleared as he was brought back to the present.

 

“Phantom”, he agreed.

 

“And Angel of Music,” she enquired.  “Why are you so named?”

 

The Phantom inclined his head in acquiescence and moved gracefully to the piano.

 

As the music washed over her, Talitha settled back into the chair and closed her eyes.  Angel of Music, indeed!  The man was a genius, calling melody from the ancient piano that had no beginning or end.  Music that seemed to swell and drift as though, like the tides, controlled by the moon rather than human hands.  The tempo changed as the Phantom seamlessly ended one piece and began another and Talitha drifted into a doze, awakening only as another piece took over – a melody she recognized.

 

“I know that one,” she said, sitting up.  The Phantom feigned deafness as she approached him tentatively.  “Mary used to sing it, she taught it to me.  We sang together to amuse ourselves…” she trailed off as the Phantom finally looked at her.

 

“Sing for me,” his quiet voice commanded.

 

“It is… the aria from _Hannibal_ , is it not?”

 

“Sing for me.”

 

Talitha swallowed, waited until an appropriate point in the music, and began:

 

“’Think of me, think of me fondly, when we’ve said goodbye…’” she trailed off as the music stopped, the Phantom wincing as though experiencing physical pain.

 

“Never…” he began.  “Never sing in my presence again.”

 

Talitha recoiled as though slapped, but the Phantom feigned ignorance once more, beginning a new piece.  When it became clear there would be no further discussion on the subject, Talitha returned to her seat by the fire.  It was a long time before she relaxed enough to begin dozing again.  The music began to work its magic however, the haunting melody following her as she slipped into a deeper slumber.

 

#          #          #

 

 _Dark stone walls… candelabra… flickering flames…_

 _Soft cushions below… velvet and fine-spun woolen robes above…_

 _A sour taste of vinegar on the tongue…_

 

Talitha blinked, taking stock of her surroundings, confused.  Where was Mary?  The other girls?  No one in the squat had access to such luxurious bedding…

 

 _The men… the staggering, loutish men…_

 _The catacombs…_

 _The wine… the music…_

 

 _The Phantom._

 

Talitha stifled a gasp as she sat up, staring around her.  The apartment was empty.

 

There was no way to tell how long she’d been sleeping.  No difference between night and day in the eternal darkness under the theatre.  It seemed, however that she had been insensible for a while – long enough that she felt rested, and hungry.  Her body told her it was morning, even as her eyes refuted the assumption.

 

On the table stood a fresh carafe of wine, a loaf of bread (still warm), and three apples.  Talitha touched the pale green skin tentatively, for surely it had been weeks since she had seen fresh fruit.  The smell was maddening, an enticingly sweet-tart scent underneath the richer aroma of the bread.  Her mouth watered and her undernourished body cried out in desperation, craving fresh food.

 

Next to the food was a slip of parchment covered with words Talitha could not read, and draped over the beautiful gilt and velvet chair was a lilac silk gown of such quality and beauty she hardly dared look at it.

 

In the end, her hungry body overcame her reluctant mind and she bit into one of the apples, sighing and wincing at the same time as the juice stung the sores in her mouth.  Yes, fresh food was necessary for a sound body and a lack of it had left her with the sores of deficiency.  The apple would do little more than irritate the lesions; a greater variety was needed to reverse the deficiency but Talitha did not know this, nor would she have cared.  All she knew was she was hungry, starving in fact, and that was enough to overcome her natural distaste for thievery.  For surely this food belonged to the Phantom and not to her.

 

“Why are you still attired inappropriately?  Did you not bother to read my note before you began eating?”

 

The Phantom had appeared at the door as silently as the evening before, and Talitha covered her surprise by taking another apple from the table.

 

“Good morning, Phantom,” she said after a moment.

 

Taken aback, the Phantom blinked and a slight flush coloured his pale cheek.  “Forgive my rudeness,” he said.  “Good morning, Talitha.  How did you sleep?”

 

“Very well.  Thank you.”

 

The Phantom nodded, seeming at a loss after this interruption to his tirade.

 

“In what way is my attire inappropriate?”  Talitha prompted, taking a bite from the second apple.  She winced again.

 

“It is unbecoming of a young lady to fashion herself after a common prostitute,” the Phantom said tartly, gesturing toward the tightly laced bodice and taffeta skirt which revealed Talitha’s small bosom and skinny ankles.

 

Talitha pursed her lips to suppress a smile.  “ _Fashion myself_ after a common prostitute?”  She murmured.  “Very well,” she said aloud.  “Perhaps you could give me an example of attire appropriate for…” she gestured around the subterranean apartment.

 

“You try my patience!”  Barked the Phantom.  “Did you not read my note?”

 

Talitha touched the marked parchment on the table, understanding now it was for her.  She flushed in embarrassment.

 

“I cannot read this, sir.”

 

The Phantom regarded her carefully.  “I see,” he said after a moment.  “Then I shall read it to you.”  He plucked the parchment from Talitha’s hands.

 

“My dear, [he read]

I trust you slept well.  I took the liberty of removing you to my sleeping quarters; please forgive my impertinence as I only wished to make you more comfortable.

I ask that you change you clothes before I return – you will find appropriate attire laid out for you.  And please do have something to eat; I cannot abide a half-starved child.

Please make yourself comfortable in my home.

 

Yours,

P.”

 

As he finished, he gestured toward the far end of the apartment.  “You may change your clothes behind the screen, if you wish.”  Then he looked pointedly at the silk gown draped over the chair.

 

“This?”  Talitha breathed.  “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly… it’s far too…”

 

“This.”  The Phantom confirmed, lifting the gown and laying it across Talitha’s still protesting arms.

 

“I couldn’t.”

 

“You can and you will,” said the Phantom, firmly.

 

Talitha opened her mouth to protest again, and thought better of it.  “As you wish,” she replied without further objection.  She carried the gown away, marveling at the detailed embroidery and the sheer weight of the expensive lilac fabric. 

 

Behind the screen she untied the bindings and let the taffeta skirt fall, unlaced her blouse and pushed it down over her hips letting it fall onto the floor atop the skirt.  Inside the gown she found silk stockings – such a thing she had never owned in her life!  Delighted with the feel of them, she drew them on over her legs.

 

The gown was another thing entirely.  Such a garment she had never owned, either.  Should she step into it and draw it up over her hips and shoulders?  Pull it over her head?  How was it fastened?  Tiny buttons up the back, however was she to manage those?  Clearly the gown had been fashioned for ladies who employed a chamber maid to dress them.

 

Upon closer examination, some of the buttons could be fastened prior to putting the garment on.  This, however, would render the waist of the gown so tiny it would never pass over Talitha’s hips.  She elected to fasten them anyway and pulled the dress over her head, cursing under her breath as she yanked the material into place and slipped her arms into the long sleeves.

 

The gown still gaped at the back, at least a dozen tiny silk-covered buttons still to be fastened.  Reaching behind her, Talitha managed three of them, but the rest remained impossible to reach on her own.  _Now what?_   She thought.  She became aware that the soft music playing just beyond her realm of concentration had ceased.  She peeked around the side of the screen.

 

Across the room, the Phantom regarded her thoughtfully, as though he had also just realized she would be entirely incapable of fastening the gown on her own.

 

“Do you require assistance?”  He asked softly.

 

“With regret, I fear I do.”

 

“The regret is mine; it did not occur to me that a gown such as this would be difficult to manage on one’s own”.

 

Talitha turned her back as he approached, sweeping her long dark hair away from her back to expose the loose buttons.  Cool, nimble fingers worked deftly to finish fastening the gown; the same hands grasped her hair gently and settled it back into place.

 

“Perfect,” he murmured, before turning on his heel and striding back to the piano.  Talitha turned slowly, her cheeks burning.  Never had she been touched so gently by a man.  Certainly, her clothes had never been fastened by a man.  And absolutely, certainly and unequivocally, she had never wished for the continuance of a man’s touch as she did right now.

 

Flustered, she cast about, taking the opportunity to linger over lacing up the soft leather boots to allow her burning cheeks to cool, before moving to stand next to the piano.  The Phantom glanced at her, then at the bench next to him.  Clearly he desired that she join him there, so she did.

 

Talitha watched the Phantom’s pale slender fingers as they drew music from the ancient yellowed keys, forgetting the effect those fingers had had on her just moments before as she cocked her head to the side and listened.  After a while, she began to recognize the pattern.  Humming the harmony line under her breath, she began to move her fingers over the keys, composing a low counterpoint to the Phantom’s music without thought or pre-meditation.  The piano and the music simply called to her, inviting her contribution to the making of it.

 

Astounded, but feigning nonchalance, the Phantom changed key and tempo.  Testing her.  Talitha paused momentarily, then picked up the pattern again.  Inclining her head, picking out the harmony among the multitude of notes and improvising beside the Phantom.

 

As the piece drew to a close the Phantom began to play with his right hand only, conducting Talitha with his left, bringing her counterpoint to a satisfying conclusion.

 

“So,” said the Phantom after a moment.  “You cannot sing to save your own life, but you _can_ play?”

 

Talitha ran a single finger over the yellow keys, caressing them.  “So it would seem,” she murmured.  Her fingers… her entire being yearned to play more.  Forgotten was her strange physical response to the Phantom’s touch: the thrill and mortification as he helped her to dress.

 

The Phantom removed himself from the piano bench and indicated Talitha was to move into the correct playing position.

 

“Play for me,” he commanded.

 

Talitha frowned.  She touched the keys gently, and shook her head.

 

“I cannot.”

 

“You just did.  Play for me!”

 

In response, Talitha began to hum and pick out notes on the instrument, inclining and shaking her head when it sounded wrong.  When she was at last satisfied, she began playing the aria from the third act of _Hannibal_ – “Think of Me”.  The aria she had unsuccessfully tried to sing for the Phantom the evening before.

 

When she finished, the Phantom was still and quiet.

 

“Talitha?”  He murmured, finally.

 

“Sir?”

 

“How many times have you performed that piece?”

 

“Performed it?  Never.  Mary and I used to sing it together, but I have never played it on the piano before now.”

 

“And before today, how many times have you played the piano.”

 

“Never.”

 

“I see.”

 

Talitha watched as the Phantom strode the length of the apartment before returning to the piano.

 

“My dear, I despise a liar,” he said finally.

 

Talitha shook her head, her brow furrowed.  “As do I,” she said.  “However I am not lying.  I have never touched a piano in my life – I am uneducated and illiterate! I have lived the better part of my life fending for myself, mostly on the streets, what access would I have had to a _piano_?”  Her voice rose in indignation.  “Why, I barely had the means to support myself until I was old enough to be considered a woman!”

 

The Phantom snorted.  “You are barely yet old enough to be considered a woman!”  He said.  “More a child in women’s clothing.”  He sighed, troubled.  “You did not tell me you had lived as a street urchin.”

 

“You did not ask,” retorted Talitha.  “Why do you suppose I came here?  What do you suppose I was running from, that a life underground would be preferable to the life I was living?”

 

“I thought to ask,” admitted the Phantom.  “But I feared to, lest you remember a better life and… leave.”

 

“There is no better life and I have no plans to leave,” said Talitha.  She sighed and was still.  Something the Phantom had said earlier suddenly fell into place and she looked up at him carefully.  “Why do you suppose I ‘fashioned myself after a common prostitute’?  What means do you think I have had to support myself in recent years?”

 

“I…I could not guess,” he answered, clearly intrigued.

 

 _Such innocence_ , thought Talitha.  _Such naivety._

“I _fashion_ myself as a common prostitute because I _am_ a common prostitute,” she told him.

 

The Phantom was shocked, his pale cheek fading to translucent as the blood fell from his face.  “You… _sell_ your body?  Lie with men?  For money?”

 

Talitha drew herself up to her entire modest height.  “Would you think better of me if I stooped to thievery, or begging?  To murder?  I barter what is mine to sell, and I hurt no one.”

 

“Only yourself,” the Phantom pointed out.  “You are not ashamed?”

 

“Why should I be?  I rely upon no one, am a burden to nobody.  I do not claim to enjoy my vocation, but I am kept well enough within it that I do not starve as many do.”

 

The Phantom gently grasped Talitha’s wrist, wrapping it with his thumb and forefinger.  The digits met and overlapped.  He chuckled humorlessly. 

 

“You do not starve?”  He asked.  “I disagree.  If you are kept so very well by your vocation, why do you wish to stay here with me?”

 

Talitha dropped her eyes.  Her shoulders slumped and the haughtiness fell from her voice.  “I _do not_ enjoy it.  None of us does.  There has to be a better life than that.  Doesn’t there?”  She looked up again, pleading with her eyes.  “Isn’t a life underground, a life of music, better than that?”

 

“ _I_ believe so,” said the Phantom.  He offered her his hand and drew her up to stand next to him at the broken mirror.  “Do _you_?  Do you believe?”

 

“I believe,” she whispered. 

 

The Phantom smiled.  “Come,” he said, beckoning her towards the piano once more.  “The music.”

 

 

 ****

 ****

 **  
Chapter 2   
**

 

And so, in the weeks and months that followed, the Phantom became her Master and Talitha his student and protégé.

 

In the mornings, he began teaching her to read and write.  The afternoons and evenings were devoted to the piano.

 

The music lessons Talitha took to like a duck to water.  It seemed she was something of a musical prodigy: able to play by ear, to perform a piece after hearing it only once.  It was true she could not sing a note in tune, but that did not matter because her ear was perfect.

 

The Phantom was delighted.  He praised her efforts and pushed her hard, scolding only occasionally.

 

Her lessons in literacy, however, were not so promising.  Her reading was slow and painful, her writing even more so and the Phantom became frustrated and enraged at her lack of progress.

 

“For goodness sake, Christine!”  He bellowed one morning, and Talitha stared at him, astounded.  “Talitha…” he corrected himself.  “Pay attention what you are doing!”

 

“But it is dull and unnecessary!”  She retorted, throwing down the quill, splattering yet more ink on the parchment.  The Phantom roared wordlessly and seemed perplexed when she did not cower at his feet.

 

“It is _not_ dull and it is _very_ necessary to be able to read and write!”  He insisted forgetting, in his frustration, his own distaste for writing as a child.  “Do you expect to get along in the world with only your beauty to carry you?  What good would that have done _me_?”

 

Intrigued, Talitha seized upon the opportunity to turn the argument away from her poor study habits.  “Is that why you constantly wear that mask?  A lack of… beauty?”  She teased him.

 

The Phantom rubbed his temples as though her insolence pained him.  “My beauty or lack thereof is not a topic for discussion,” he told her.  “Continue with your assignment.”

 

Talitha grumbled and picked up the quill once again.  Dipping the nib into the ink, she waited until it ceased dripping then carefully began to form the shapes of the letters.  “I do not understand why this is so important, the music calls to me and yet I spend my days labouring at the table, getting ink all over my hands,” she muttered.

 

When the Phantom began to teach her basic arithmetic, Talitha was far more intrigued.  Numbers and counting went hand in hand with music, unlike words, and she progressed quickly into geometry, which was even more fascinating.  With his background in architecture, the Phantom was as eager as she to work with mathematics and when she began to neglect her reading more blatantly, he did not correct her or insist she continue with it.

 

When the theatre was closed for the night, he took her on excursions through the building, using the structure as a practical lesson in angles and shapes, as well as different building materials and the relative benefits and drawbacks of carpentry over masonry, and vice versa.

 

When she displeased him, the Phantom’s temper tantrums were fiery, but Talitha did not cower from him.  Rather, she stood her ground and argued her case.  After an initial period of disbelief in her lack of fear, he actually seemed to enjoy the challenge of trying to win an argument with reason, rather than brute force and a bellowing voice.

 

They learned to co-exist more or less peacefully.  On the opposite side of the apartment to where the Phantom slept, a second sleeping place was set up with cushions and rich velvet robes for Talitha’s exclusive use.  Every evening she sank into her soft nest with a sigh of delight for it was the most luxurious bed she had ever known. 

 

And every morning she awoke to fresh bread and fruit, and the occasional boiled egg or porridge for variety.  Midday meals consisted of more bread and cheese, milk and fruit.  Talitha took over the preparation of the evening meal using ingredients procured by the Phantom:  vegetables and dried meat made into a rich stew, the occasional haunch of fresh meat lowered into a pot of water and vinegar and corned until the flesh was so tender it fell off the bone.  Dried fruit, soft cheese and wine a late supper before retiring.

 

Talitha’s gaunt face and skinny limbs began to fill out and she no longer suffered the lesions of deficiency.  She flourished under the Phantom’s tutelage and care and, in turn, filled his days with meaning as he instructed her and delighted in her efforts, and her companionship.

 

 

 

 

 **  
Chapter 3 – Late Autumn 1885   
**

 

No lessons today.  No lectures.  No tirades or demands.  The Phantom played, and Talitha listened… no, _experienced_ his music, her eyes closed, her head resting on his shoulder.

 

As he moved from one piece to another, the key and tempo changing slightly, Talitha stirred herself and gazed up into his face – the perfect half.  The face of an angel with the single blue eye.  Tentatively, she reached up to caress his pale cheek with the back of her hand.  The Phantom continued playing for a couple of bars, then trailed off.  His eye closed as he inclined his head, leaning into the caress.  For a moment neither of them breathed, then he caught her hand in his, holding it to his face a moment longer before removing it, gently but firmly.

 

“What are you doing, child?”  He asked; his voice soft and exasperated.

 

“I am not a child,” Talitha whispered.

 

“No, you are not,” the Phantom agreed, and he sighed.  Shifting his body on the piano bench, he looked at her.  “Far too experienced and worldly to be a child.  Far too young to be so… experienced and worldly.”

 

In answer, Talitha reached up and touched the porcelain mask which obscured the right side of his face.  “Is it really so bad… underneath?”  She asked him.

 

“You do not wish to know,” he answered, turning away again.

 

“I do.”

 

“I am a monster.”

 

“I disagree.  I have seen inside your heart – you give your soul to music and you are a genius in so many ways.  An artist.  An architect.  A teacher.  I am not afraid of you.  What you look like is of no consequence to who you are.”

 

“And yet you still wish to see?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I do not want your pity,” the Phantom murmured, his voice pained.

 

“How could I ever pity _you_?”

 

Gently, Talitha reached up and removed the mask from his face.  The Phantom did nothing to stop her, or protest.  She gazed upon the ruined half of his face and winced.

 

Tracing the disfigured eye socket with a gentle finger, she asked:  “Does it… pain you?”

 **  
**

“My head aches sometimes.  Often.  But no, it does not… pain me.  Not in the way you imagine.”

 

Talitha followed a puckered scar from his eye to the hair-line and realized for the first time that the Phantom’s glorious raven hair must be a wig.  The disfigurement seemed to continue over his skull.  She slipped the same gentle finger under the edge of the wig, and the Phantom’s hand moved to stop her.

 

“No,” he choked.

 

“Yes,” she whispered, and removed the hair-piece, setting it aside carefully next to the mask before turning to inspect the rest.  Wispy pale brown hair fringed the base of his skull, but otherwise he was bald.  The skull was pitted and misshapen, the skin puckered in some places and shiny red-raw in others.

 

The Phantom’s right eye was milky-white:  “Blind?”  She asked.  The Phantom nodded.  His nose barely existed, likewise his right ear.  Yet his mouth, and the entire left side of his face, including the ear on that side, was untouched.  Perfect.

 

“How?”  Talitha asked, taking his hands in hers.

 

“I was like this at birth,” said the Phantom.

 

“Your parents…?”

 

“My father was a master stonemason; he died before I was born.  My mother was a devout Catholic and tended to me out of a sense of duty, but she could not bear to touch me or kiss me or even look at me.  She constructed my first mask from kid leather:  my very first item of clothing.  Before, I suspect, she even bothered to swaddle my backside in a napkin!  When I was nine years old, I ran away.”

 

Talitha shook her head, her eyes full of sadness for the lonely childhood the Phantom must have endured.

 

“I lived in… many places.”  He went on.  “With gypsies – forced to display myself as a freak.  I traveled through Europe, lived in the courts of the Shah of Persia.  And finally, in the catacombs beneath the _Opera Populaire_ : the Paris Opera House until…”  Here he paused.  Talitha waited.  “Until Christine.”

 

“Christine,” Talitha breathed.  That name again.  Always Christine.

 

The Phantom removed his hands from her grasp and busied them replacing the wig and mask.  “Do not mention her name again,” he said briskly.  His fingers settled on the keys, once again calling forth the melody.

 

Talitha reached up to caress his face again, but he ignored her and played on.  She sighed.  Christine.  Always Christine.

 

#          #          #

 

“Who is Christine?”  Talitha asked, many days later.

 

“I asked you _never_ to mention…”

 

“You mention her more often that I do!  All the time!  Whenever I do something to displease you, or when you think me tiresome!”

 

“You displease me and are tiresome this very minute,” the Phantom growled.

 

“You cannot invoke her name and react violently when I do the same and not explain to me who she is!”  Talitha insisted.  “Do I resemble her?”

 

The Phantom sighed.  “Superficially you resemble her.  Your hair,” he smiled gently, tangling his fingers briefly in Talitha’s dark curls.  “Your hair is nearly identical to hers.”

 

Talitha frowned at her unruly mane in the mirror.  “How terribly unfortunate for her.”

 

The Phantom chuckled at that.  “The similarity ends there.”

 

“She is more beautiful?”

 

“Beautiful yes, but so very different from you.  No more or less beautiful.”

 

“Different?  How so?”

 

The Phantom examined her closely with one blue eye, taking stock.  “Her face was an oval, yours is a heart.  Her eyes were blue, yours are dark.  Her nose, straight.  Yours is… snub.”

 

Talitha frowned again, touching her nose.  She did not care to be described as snub-nosed.

 

“Her mouth was fuller than yours.  But your mouth is… sweeter.  She was tall for a woman whereas you are tiny.  Her figure, fuller.  She benefited from the wealth of her late father, which included access to the best tutors, the best instructors, the best clothing and the best food.”

 

“High-born,” Talitha sighed.  It was difficult to compete with that.

 

“High-born, cosseted, educated, well-fed, protected and ultimately frail,” summarized the Phantom.  “All the things you are not.”

 

Talitha considered this.  It was a fair comparison, she decided.  “Did you love her?”  She asked.

 

The Phantom looked away, refusing to answer.

 

“You did,” Talitha answered for him.  “And she did not love you?”

 

“She feared me,” he whispered.

 

“Because of your appearance?”

 

The Phantom shook his head, but refused to elaborate.

 

“You have not truly answered my question though,” Talitha pointed out, and the Phantom eyed her askance.  “Who was she _to you_?”

 

“My student.  My protégé”.

 

 _Like me_ , thought Talitha, but she did not voice it aloud.

 

 

 

 **  
Chapter 4 – Late Autumn 1885 (1 week later)   
**

 

Talitha could not concentrate on her lessons.  Not ordinarily the best of students when it came to reading and writing, she struggled especially hard today, casting side-long glances at the Phantom.  His pale slender fingers massaged his temples, his one blue eye was ringed as though bruised or smudged with charcoal, his pale skin was sallow and dull.  More like dirty linen than polished alabaster.

 

Abruptly, he left the table.  “Excuse me, my dear,” he murmured.  “I will rejoin you momentarily.”  He was away through the wooden door before Talitha had even registered his words.

 

When he returned, his face was grey and damp.  The sour scent of vomit surrounded him like miasma.

 

“Phantom!”  Talitha cried, springing from her seat and taking his arm as he staggered.  “You are ill; I shall fetch a doctor at once!”

 

“No my dear, that is quite unnecessary,” he protested.  “Please, help me to a chair, I cannot see.”

 

“Then I _must_ fetch a doctor…”

 

“No,” he repeated firmly.  “My head aches, that is all.”

 

Talitha settled him in his chair by the fire and wrung her hands, glancing at the door, then back at the Phantom.  Shaking her head at his stubbornness, she went to the wash stand, soaked a piece of cloth in the basin of water and, wringing it out brought it back to wipe his face.  She reached to remove the mask but he growled under his breath and pushed her hand away.

 

“In the top drawer of my bureau you shall find a glass bottle, brown, and a silver spoon.  Would you bring them to me?”  He whispered.

 

Talitha hurried to do as he bid, locating the bottle where he had indicated.  She frowned at the label but was unable to read the complicated words.  Frustrated and cursing her lack of commitment to her reading lessons, she brought the bottle and spoon to the Phantom.  His hand shook as he reached for it, and then thought better.

 

“Will you measure out a spoonful for me, I cannot see well enough to do it myself,” he asked.

 

“Of course,” Talitha murmured.  She uncorked the bottle and carefully poured out the required spoonful.  Cradling his head with one hand, she poured the brew into his open mouth.  He grimaced and gestured toward his goblet.  Talitha fetched this as well and waited while he washed away the foul-tasting medicine with a swallow of sweet wine.

 

“You are cold,” she told him as she took his hand.  He was trembling now, his teeth chattering in his head.  She cast about looking for something to cover him, then decided on a better course of action.

 

From the Phantom’s sleeping place, Talitha dragged his cushions and woolen blankets, remaking a nest for him before the fire.  Then she gently helped him to his feet and settled him on the floor in the nest, propping his head up and tucking the blankets around him.  She stroked the hair of his wig and caressed his pale cheek, frowning and concerned.

 

“You told me it did not pain you,” she accused.  The Phantom didn’t answer.  “My lord, I despise a liar,” she reminded him, close to tears.

 

“I apologize for my deception,” the Phantom murmured, his words beginning to slur.  “I did not wish for you to worry.”

 

“I worry now.”

 

“I know.”  Then:  “would you play for me?”

 

“Of course,” said Talitha.  She leaned over and brushed his cool cheek with her lips, barely a kiss, and moved to the piano.

 

The gentle sound of Mozart filled the apartment.  Talitha didn’t bother with the sheet-music; it remained simpler for her to play by ear and from memory.  Her mind wandered as she completed the piece and moved immediately and flawlessly into another.  _My head aches, that is all_ , the Phantom had said.  Talitha remembered an older woman who lived in the same squat as her and Mary.  Alice – a midwife and occasional whore.  Alice had suffered from what she termed “brainstorms” frequently.  She would become physically ill, the headache would blind her, and she was unable to go out at night and “work” with the other girls.  Unlike the Phantom, Alice had no access to magic potions, though.  ****

Talitha paused in her playing and glanced over at the Phantom.  His eye was closed and his chest rose and fell evenly.  He was asleep.  Quietly she approached him and knelt at his side.  She loosened his tie and the top button of his ruffled shirt, and removed his shoes.  He did not stir.  Hesitantly, mindful of the wrath which would rain down upon her should he wake, she removed his mask and set it aside.  The same deep, bruise-like shadows surrounded his blind eye and while his skin still appeared grey, the tension had left his face as he escaped the pain into slumber.

 

With a gentle finger, she traced the scarring on his face, his full lower lip and the strong line of his perfect jaw.

 

“My lord, I love thee,” she whispered.  Then she lay down next to him, closed her eyes, and slept.

 

#          #          #

 

When she woke hours later, he was still sleeping.  She rose, moving carefully so as not to wake him and busied herself tidying the apartment.  She picked up the glass bottle, rinsed the silver spoon and went to replace them in the bureau.  As she did, she looked closely at the label, tracing the letters with her finger.  The first few words were long and complicated, but one seemed easier.

 

“O. P.  I.  U.  M.”  She spelled.  “Oh-py-umm?  Oh-pee-um… Opium?!”  She glanced at the still slumbering figure of the Phantom in horror.  Opium?  The destroyer of minds and families?  The substance that had turned her father from a simple alcoholic to an addict?  The substance that had ultimately ended his life?

 

Talitha grimaced and set the bottle atop the bureau instead of putting it away.  She intended to question the Phantom about it when he woke.

#          #          #

Seated by the fire, Talitha watched the Phantom as he picked his way gingerly around the apartment.  He had replaced the mask and was still rubbing his forehead, although his colour had improved.

 

He caught her look of concern and grimaced.  “It is nothing, my dear, merely the after-effects of the medication.”

 

“Narcotic hangover?”  Talitha asked, one eyebrow arched.

 

The Phantom was surprised.  “Your reading skills have improved then,” he murmured.

 

“That is what my father called it, when he woke from an opium-induced stupor!”  She retorted with venom.  “Opium, Phantom?  Do you not know the harm it can cause?  It enslaves your mind, and your body and if you take too much at once…” she broke off, her voice a sob.

 

“Talitha, my dear girl, I am not enslaved!  I use it only when my head pains me so that I cannot see and I take only the amount the alchemist instructed, see here!”  He took the bottle from the bureau and traced the words as he read them out loud.  “ _Papaver somniferum_ , Tincture of Opium.  Take one spoonful only.”

Talitha frowned and eyed the bottle, still displeased and upset.  Her fingers itched to throw the offending drug into the fireplace, smashing the bottle and burning the contents.  But the way he had looked the night before: the pain in his eye, the physical sickness, the unhealthy grey cast to his skin.  She could not bear to take away the one thing that relieved his suffering.

 

“You do not take it for your own… amusement?”  She asked.

 

“No, Talitha.”

 

“Only to relieve your pain?”

 

“Of course, why else?”

 

Talitha sniffed, baring her teeth humourlessly at him.  “Why else?  My father took it regularly for the euphoria it brought.  He abandoned even his constant drinking in pursuit of his precious opium!”

 

The Phantom took her hand, leading her to the sitting area before the fire.  “Tell me,” he invited.  “Tell me everything”.

 

And so she did.  Her mother’s death in child-bed, surviving only long enough to name her daughter (“Little Girl!  Talitha!”).  The wet-nurse her father employed to suckle the new-born babe and his descent into alcoholism at the loss of his beloved wife.

 

“It was my wet-nurse Elizabeth who raised me.  Bessie I called her.”  Talitha smiled at the memory.  “She would leave me in the evening, though, and return at dawn.  She’d sleep for a few hours, then tend to me until the following evening, when she would leave again.  I believe now she worked the nights as a prostitute.”  She voiced a harsh laugh.  “Funny how these things come around again, a never ending loop.”

 

“Where was your father through all this?”  The Phantom questioned.

 

“Still drinking,” Talitha replied, and sighed.  “Bessie disappeared and did not return one night when I was five years old.  My father started taking opium not long after that.  He was barely around and when he was, he was insensible.  I fended for myself for the most part.”

 

The Phantom shook his head in disgust at the neglect shown to his young protégé.

 

“When I was ten years old he took too much opium one night.  He went to sleep and never woke up.”  Talitha blinked back tears.  “I tried to rouse him: I shook him, poured water on his head, it was no use.  I fetched a doctor, but the doctor told me he had died.”  The tears spilled over.

The Phantom drew her into his embrace as she wept silent tears.  Her father had not appeared to love his daughter, or even notice her existence much of the time, but after Bessie disappeared he was all she had left in the world.  All she had known from birth was that those she cared for left, and never came back.

 

“Talitha, my dear, you have nothing to fear from opium with me,” he told her.  “I invite you to check the level inside the bottle.  Perhaps it will put your mind at rest if you are certain I am not indulging without your knowledge.”

 

Talitha wiped away her tears and sat up.  “That will not be necessary,” she murmured, but she intended to do just that.

 

 

 

 

 **  
Chapter 5 – The First Day of Winter 1885   
**

 

Talitha’s lessons were over for the day and she moved idly around the apartment as the Phantom sat composing at the piano.  He had played the same passage so many times now she ceased to hear it.  She ran her fingers lightly over the books in the “library”, a nook set aside exclusively for books and study, cluttered with bookshelves.  However, her reading skills as yet did not allow her to indulge in the stories and she was not the slightest bit interested in them anyway.  Beyond the library was a storage area and Talitha began rummaging through a forgotten trunk.

 

With a crow of delight she pulled out a dark blue velvet cloak and swirled it around her shoulders.  The pile was a little crushed from lying in storage, but she believed the creases would drop out with hanging in a damp room.

 

Delighted with her find, Talitha hurried to inspect herself wearing the luxurious cloak in the dusty and cracked mirror which also dwelled in the storage area.  As she twirled around she caught sight of the Phantom staring at her, a mixture of pain, anger and sorrow in his eyes.

 

“Where did you find that?  It does not belong to you!”  He choked.

 

Talitha flushed and hurried to unfasten the clasp at her throat.  “I am sorry Phantom, I only wished to try it on,” she stammered.  “It is such a pretty colour, it seems a shame to leave it lying hidden in the trunk…”

 

“Put it back,” he ordered, then turned on his heel and strode back to the piano.

 

Stung by his harsh words she bit her lip, fighting back tears.  It was only a cloak!  A beautiful cloak, certainly, but what could have moved him to attack her so?  Running her hand over the deep pile, it dawned on her.  Christine.  This must have belonged to Christine.  The realization felt like a blow to the stomach and the tears she held back threatened once more.  How much longer could she compete with the memory of Christine? 

 **  
**

Slowly, Talitha folded the cloak and returned it to the trunk.  She made her way back to the main apartment, dragging her feet, and sank down onto her sleeping cushions.  Movement suddenly seemed too much of an effort.  Tears trickled down her face – she was not weeping for something as insignificant as a coveted cloak, they were the tears of a lonely child who realizes at last that she is not the favoured one, and perhaps never would be.  Her cheeks still wet, she fell into a doze.

 

When she opened her eyes, the Phantom sat watching her.  His one blue eye was troubled.  The deep blue velvet cloak lay in his lap.

 

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her.  “Take it, if it means that much to you.”

 

Struggling to her feet, Talitha took the offered garment with numb hands.  She carried it to the broken mirror and swirled it around her shoulders once more, lifting her hair out of the way and settling it again, and fastening the clasp at her throat. ****

“Oh Christine,” the Phantom murmured from behind her, his nearly inaudible voice full of sadness and regret.

 

“Oh Christine,” Talitha mimicked, suddenly enraged.  “Christine!  Christine!  How I sicken with the sound of her name!”  She turned away, snarling at her reflection in the mirror and raking her fingers through her long hair.

 

“Oh Christine!”  She continued.  “My hair is such that every time I turn from you, you see her!  And when I turn back, I see the disappointment in your eyes, and hear her name on your lips!  Christine!”

 

“Insolent girl!”  The Phantom hissed, his eyes blazing with hurt.  “You are not fit to speak her name!  If you were half the woman Christine was…”

 

“If I were half the woman Christine was?”  Talitha cut in.  She raised her chin in defiance even as tears of fury and anguish pricked at her eyes.  “If I were half the woman Christine was I would still love you twice as much as she was ever capable of!”  She drew the coveted velvet cloak around her and ran for the catacombs.

 

“Talitha!”  The Phantom cried, starting after her.  He stopped.  “Christine,” he whispered.  “Talitha…” and crumpled to the floor, his head in his hands, sobbing.

 

#          #          #

 

On the roof he found her, huddled and shivering in spite of the glorious cloak.  Her furious eyes blazed out of her tear-streaked face, hurt and resentful and thoroughly sick and tired of competing with a ghost from the past.

 

“Who _was_ she to you?”

 

The Phantom choked out a sob.  “Talitha, my dear!”  He cried.  “Do not despise me; I could not bear it…”

 

“Tell.  Me.  Who.  She.  Was.”  Talitha hissed through clenched teeth.

 

“Come inside, the night is freezing…”

 

“I shall leave!”

 

“No!  Please, I will tell you but do come inside!”  The Phantom implored.

 

Talitha regarded him suspiciously for a moment, then nodded and consented to be drawn under the Phantom’s much warmer cloak and ushered back down to the apartment.  When they were settled before the fire, he began to speak of Christine Daae and his obsessive and psychotic love for her.

 

“I was her Angel of Music, that is what she called me,” the Phantom said.  “When she sang, it was as though _she_ were the Angel.  So beautiful, so young and innocent.  So… pliable.  I discovered her voice and nurtured it, turned her from a chorus girl – a _petit rat_ – into the star soprano of the _Opera Populaire_.”

 

“Think of me, think of me fondly…” Talitha spoke the words of the aria.

 

The Phantom smiled.  “It was her first triumph.  _Our_ first triumph.  And I loved her: obsessively, painfully and to the point of madness.  I killed for her, and I would have died for her.  That is why she feared me…  As you shall now fear me…”

 

“No,” Talitha cut in.  “I do not fear you.”

 

“She feared me, but she showed me gentleness and a depth of affection which I had never before experienced,” the Phantom went on as though she hadn’t spoken.  “Even as I held her lover, her fiancé, hostage and threatened to end his life if she would not choose me, she saw through the monster to the man who had lived a tortured existence.  She cried for me.

 

“I set her and her beloved free then.  That she could show me such compassion even as I threatened the life of the man she loved above all others… she showed me another way to live.  I swore to myself and to her as she walked out of my life that no more would die at my hands.

 

“And I left the _Opera Populaire_ – a place I had helped build with my own hands and lived in for 20 years – I left Paris, never to return.”

 

He turned to Talitha then, taking her hands and imploring her to understand with his single blue eye.  “Do you see now why she still haunts me?”

 

“I do, but she need not,” replied Talitha.  “She has forgiven you.  In turn you must forgive yourself, or you shall never be free.”

 

“My dear Talitha,” said the Phantom, cupping her cheek with one hand.  “You are but a child but wise beyond your years.”

 

“My dear Phantom,” replied Talitha.  “If you call me a child again, I shallbe forced to end _your_ life.”

 

The Phantom chuckled.  “Of course.  Your threat has been considered and your reasoning is sound.  I shall not refer to you as a child again.”

 

Talitha smiled and inclined her head, accepting his apology of sorts.  The Phantom’s face grew serious as he put aside their banter.  He studied her face until she blushed under the intense scrutiny.

 

“The words you shouted at me in anger,” he began.  “Were they the truth?  Do you… _love_ me?”

 

Talitha cut her eyes from him, flushing a deeper red.  A cool gentle finger forced her gaze back to his.  “I do,” she whispered.  “Do you doubt it?”

 

“No,” he answered.  “I do not.  Only a woman who loved me would endure my tantrums and flights of fancy with the good grace and patience you have demonstrated since the moment you arrived here”.

 

 

 **  
Chapter 6 – Winter 1885   
**

 

One evening, not long after the beginning of winter but before the first snow had fallen, the Phantom put aside the sheet music for the composition he was working on and beckoned Talitha from her place by the fire.

 

“Come,” he said.  “We need fresh supplies; there will be a market for the local farmers open tonight.  You may accompany me, if you wish.”

 

“Of course!”  Cried Talitha, putting aside her sewing.  She barely left the sanctuary of the theatre anymore.  An excursion to a market was a rare treat she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing. ****

The Phantom made a show of inspecting her outfit as she hurried to join him.  “No, that will never do,” he murmured.  “Perhaps _this_ …” he said, producing a fine new gown of the deepest green velvet.  The bodice was sewn with pearl-drop beads; the skirt was full, the shoulders slightly puffed and the sleeves snug-fitting to the wrists, with more pearl-beaded details to be found there.

 

Talitha caught her breath as she reached to touch the fine luxurious cloth, hesitating as though she expected the beautiful gown to disappear as quickly as it had appeared should she dare to place one finger on it.

 

Pleased with the effect his surprise had on her, the Phantom smiled.  “Go on, take it!”  He urged.  “You’ll find it rather more compliant in the fastening – you should be able to manage it yourself this time.”  His blue eye sparkled as he teased her.

 

Talitha nodded numbly, taking the gown from him and disappearing behind the screen to change.

When she reappeared she discovered the Phantom had another surprise in store.  A matching cloak, deep green velvet lined with sumptuous white rabbit fur.  Smug with his own brilliance, he settled the beautiful cloak over Talitha’s shoulders, fastened the clasp and raised the hood so that it covered her hair and framed her face with white fur.

 

“There!”  He said, sweeping a lock of her hair from her face and tucking it securely under the hood with one finger.  “Perfect.”  Then:  “Yes, I am partial to that colour with your skin,” he murmured.

 

They stepped out of the alley, her arm through his and headed for the night market.  Talitha inhaled deeply, absorbing the fresh winter air, the scent of snow on the way, and other things.  Baked turkey, roasted chestnuts, apples with cinnamon, cut fir trees, wood smoke…

 

“Why, it’s Christmas!”  Talitha exclaimed, delighted and the Phantom laughed.

 

“Christmas Eve, you did not realize?”  He asked.

 

“Time ceases to have any meaning in the unending dark… oh, candy apples!”  She cried, hurrying toward another vendor and pulling an amused Phantom along behind her.  “Oh I have not eaten one in years!  Oh could we have one?  Please?”

 

The Phantom laughed again and mindful of her previous threat, repressed the urge to tease her with the name “child”.  He paid for the treats and they moved deeper into the markets to search for and purchase Christmas fare.  They bought a smoked ham, fresh bread and a variety of vegetables which could be roasted over the fire.  Cashew nuts and sweetened dried cranberries to nibble on.  Beef-dripping with which Talitha could make delicious rich gravy, and a flask of fresh milk which would keep from going sour if left in the cold corridor outside the apartment.

 

The Phantom left Talitha examining a selection of silk scarves and disappeared on a mysterious errand, returning to spirit her away much to the disappointment of the silk-vendor.  She suspected he was refreshing his stock of opium, in spite of the fact the level had not changed the last three times she’d checked, but refused to initiate another argument about it.

 

At length, when they had finished examining the market stalls, they carried their groceries home.  Laughing, their cheeks flushed with cold, they made their way up the alley to the theatre just as the first fat snowflakes began to fall. 

 

Abandoning her parcels in the doorway, Talitha stood in the middle of the alley, her arms outstretched and her laughing face open to the sky.  She could not remember a time she’d felt happier.  She caught snowflakes on her tongue and pushed her fur-lined hood back to let them fall into her hair, studding the tangles with white diamonds.

 

The Phantom watched her, his eye soft and amused, and believed for the first time that he might come to have what he had always wanted.  He fingered the small parcel hidden in his pocket.

 

“Come along, woman, I should be most displeased if you caught pneumonia on Christmas Eve!”  He called in a mock stern voice.  Talitha laughed again and returned to the doorway to collect her parcels and follow him down to the apartment.

 

#          #          #

 

Later that evening…

“My dear, I should like to give you something,” said the Phantom.  “A Christmas gift, if you will.”

 

“Another one?”  Asked Talitha, smoothing the skirt of her new velvet gown.  “I had thought _this_ to be my Christmas gift!  _And_ I have nothing to give you!”

 

“Indulge me. Please.”

 

Talitha sighed.  “As you wish.”

 

From his pocket the Phantom withdrew a black silk pouch and handed it to her.  The contents felt heavy, and Talitha eyed him askance.  He gestured impatiently that she open it, his blue eye suddenly concerned as though he were afraid she’d reject the gift when she saw it.

 

Talitha loosened the draw-string of the pouch and tipped its contents onto her lap.  She gasped, lifting the gift into the firelight.

 

On a fine but sturdy black silken cord there hung a red heart.  It was made of solid silver, glazed in pearly crimson enamel, its facets sparkling as they caught the light.

 

“Phantom!”  Talitha breathed, her eyes pricking with tears.

 

“I give you my heart, if you’ll accept it,” he murmured, his tender eye never leaving her face.  “I ask only that you treat it gently.”

 

Tears spilled down Talitha’s cheeks as she slipped the cord over her head.  The heart hung between her breasts, glittering beautifully against the dark green velvet.  “Fitting that you should give me your heart as you have already stolen mine,” she whispered.

 

The Phantom knelt before her and took her face in his hands, wiping away her tears.  Slowly, tentatively, as though worried she might change her mind; he drew her face toward his and pressed his lips to hers…

 

#          #          #

 

Slowly, Talitha gathered her clothes and inspected the damage.  The gown, the beautiful green velvet gown was torn all the way up one seam.  The damage was not as catastrophic as it might seem, Talitha knew her way around a sewing needle; it could be repaired.  The stockings, however, were completely destroyed.  _In fact_ , she thought, _there seems to be only one._   A stench like singed feathers suggested that the wayward stocking had ended up in the fire.

 

She sighed, quickly re-pinned her hair and donned another gown.

 

 _Where would he have gone?_ Then:  _The rooftops_ , she decided.  _Of course._

 

And indeed, that is where she found him, huddled in the snow against a statue.  A gargoyle among many.

 

“Talitha,” he wept.

 

“Phantom,” she replied, touching his shoulder.  Her touch startled him and he drew away from her.

 

“Do not touch me!”  He cried.  “I _am_ a monster!  The worst sort of monster!”

 

“You are not,” Talitha told him, firmly yet gently.  “You did not hurt me…”

 

“I took you!”  He wailed.  “Without warning!  Without consent!  A common rapist!”

 

“My love, you cannot rape the willing,” she assured him.  “I should not even be surprised.  Grown man that you are, in the ways of the flesh you are still yet a boy.”  She smiled.  “With all the self control of a boy as he becomes a lover.”

 

The Phantom shuddered.  “I am not fit to be your lover,” he moaned.

 

“Am _I_ not fit to be _your_ protégé, illiterate and untrained as I am?  And yet you teach me with such patience, a kind Master to a slow student.  You too are capable of… learning.”

 

The Phantom rocked back and forth and sobbed and Talitha held him, allowing him to vent his anguish and disgust in himself.  At length his sobs slowed, and then stopped.  He rocked a while longer, occasionally emitting a watery gasp not unlike an upset child.  Talitha held him all the while, patiently waiting.

 

Eventually:  “And so the student becomes the teacher?”  The Phantom asked.

 

Talitha smiled again, sweeping the tears from beneath his one good eye with her thumb and caressing the perfect side of his face.  “And so you will become _my_ protégé.”

 

“I am yours to command… Mistress.”

 

 

 

 

 **  
Chapter 7   
**

 

The process was slow – maddeningly slow.  The Phantom, fearing the loss of control withdrew from Talitha’s advances at the first sign of his own passion, protesting that he would _not_ hurt her again, he would _not_ allow it.  Talitha, unused to actively pursuing a man became frustrated that the only man she had ever wanted seemed determined to remain immune to seduction.

 

Her kisses and caresses he could endure, even enjoy and respond to.  But when she moved to unbutton his shirt he would knock her hand away and retreat to the piano or the far end of the apartment and his books or, worst still, the rooftops.

 

Talitha hid her frustration and tried to be patient with him.  She encouraged his caresses – her face and hands were safe to him but a single finger traced along her collarbone would have him gasping and retreating once again.  They slept most nights in his sleeping place, entwined; the Phantom seemed not to associate the bed-chamber with passion but rather a tender, sleepy embrace.  The initial bliss of drifting off to sleep in his arms was becoming a nightmare, Talitha forced to keep her wandering hands still lest he leave the bed or worse, demand that she return to her own.

 

Only when he was playing the piano was he able to ignore her caresses.  Feeling playful and more than a little bit daring one day, Talitha loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt most of the way, intending to follow him when he fled, and goad him into “raping” her again if necessary.  But strangely, he did not run away and indeed, did not even seem to notice her presence.

 

Talitha left him at the piano and paced the apartment, an idea forming in her mind.  The music...  Perhaps that was the key.  The genius was a Master of control and concentration – when he focused on the music.

 

#          #          #

 

The very next day, Talitha put her plan into action.  As they sat before the fire, talking easily, she stroked the palm of his hand with one finger, tracing the lines there.  Reaching to caress his face, she lifted her own face towards his and kissed him.  He responded initially, his hand moving automatically to cup the back of her head, and then his body stiffened.

 

“Play for me,” Talitha whispered in his ear before he could move away from her embrace.

 

“Talitha?”

 

“Am I not _your_ Mistress and you _my_ student?  I asked you to play for me!”  She insisted, tracing one finger down his jaw.  He shuddered.

 

“Yes… yes, Mistress.”

 

The Phantom staggered to his feet, so unlike his usual graceful gait and collapsed onto the piano bench.  The keys stuttered under his fingers, then his face and shoulders relaxed visibly and the music began to flow.  Talitha breathed a sigh of relief, closed her eyes, and prepared for the next part of the plan.

 

As the piece wound to a close, she tugged on his sleeve, urging him to stand.

 

“Dance with me,” she demanded, placing his hand on her waist and taking the other, holding it firmly lest he pull away.

 

“Mistress… Talitha, I cannot…”

 

“Remember the music,” she said.  “Dance with me to the music.”  She hummed an approximation of the melody, mindful that she was unable to carry a tune, but it worked.  The Phantom closed his eyes and seemed to focus within; then his feet were moving in time with the “music” and he was leading her around the floor.

 

At length she loosened his grip on her hand and began to caress his face, moving down his jaw to his collar.  Her eyes on his face, she began to unbutton his shirt, baring most of his chest almost to his flat belly before he began to protest.

 

“The music,” murmured Talitha.  “Focus on the music.”

 

The Phantom closed his eye.  “Yes, my Mistress.”  His hands fell to his sides, clenching into fists, and then relaxing.

 

Talitha swallowed as she finished with the shirt, spreading it wide to reveal his smoothly muscled chest.  Her breath quickened as she leaned in to kiss the warm skin, his heart fluttered beneath her lips and his chest hitched into a gasp.

 

“The music,” she reminded him.

 

Moving around behind him she removed the Phantom’s jacket, then his shirt, placing them carefully over the gilt and velvet chair.  She could see his shoulders moving, his chest heaving as he fought for control, and she ran a fingertip down his spine.  A low moan escaped his lips, his hands clenched into fists.

 

“The music…”

 

“Yes Mistress,” he whispered.

 

As quickly as possible, Talitha shrugged out of her gown and undergarments, laying them atop the Phantom’s clothes.  She returned to stand naked before him.  His eye was still closed.

 

Her fingers trembling now, she began to unfasten his trousers.  She watched as his jaw clenched and he ceased to breathe entirely.  Swiftly, mindful that his control could not last much longer, she finished removing his trousers and his shoes and led him naked back to the piano.  Seated, his fingers resting lightly on the keys, he had already begun to relax again.  His breath came faster than usual, his perfect lips parted, but his eye was open and he focused and began to play.

 

The music was beautiful: a new composition.  It spoke of love and passion, timeless and ageless.  Talitha watched as the tension left his face, his shoulders, and his chest.  Every part of him… except one.

 

In a single fluid movement, Talitha lowered herself into the Phantom’s lap, impaling herself.  A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips and the music faltered as the Phantom moaned her name. ****

“The music,” she reminded him, a whisper in his ear.

 

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, and resumed playing.

 

Talitha moved slowly against him, raising and lowering herself, lustily riding him as he continued to play.  His breath against her bare shoulder quickened and the music faltered, then she heard him swallow and focus and the music went on, the tempo a little quicker than before.  Lost in the glorious music, the scent of his sweat, the feel of his body against hers, Talitha closed her eyes and moaned.

Dimly, she became aware that the faltering music had stopped entirely.  That the Phantom’s pale fingers no longer stroked the keys, rather gripped her buttocks as he cried out her name, but it no longer mattered.

 

Talitha’s own fingers raked the Phantom’s naked back, tearing away the wig and mask as she voiced her own cry of ecstasy.

 

And then he was holding her gently, gasping and weeping tears of joy, his face buried in her breast as she stroked his misshapen head.

 

“My love, my love!”  He murmured.  “My Talitha, I am dying with love for you!”  He shook, clutching her closer.

 

“Phantom…”

 

“My love… you must never leave me!  I would take my own life and be cast into the Pit of Hell.  My love!  My Talitha!”

 

“Phantom,” she whispered, drawing his face away from her breast and drying his tears with her lips.  “If I were made to leave you, I should wish to die also.  We cannot be parted, not ever.”  She smiled and kissed his perfect eyelid gently.  “ _My_ Phantom. _My_ Angel of Music…”

 

“Erik,” he whispered.

 

“Erik?”

 

“My true name, the name I was cursed with at Baptism, is Erik.”

 

Talitha smiled.  “Come then Erik,” she said, removing herself from his lap as he voiced another moan.  Taking his hand, she led him towards her sleeping place.  “Your tension is relieved, and you are the Master of your own self control.  Only now can you _truly_ begin to learn!”

 

The Phantom’s single blue eye burned with passion.  “Mistress I am, now and always, yours to command.”

 

#          #          #

 

With his initial raw lust satiated and the inner walls of his self-doubt crumbled and lying in ruins, the Phantom became a model student to his pretty Mistress, as well as an inventive lover.

 

Talitha was unsurprised to discover his delicate, gentle touch – so deft at caressing beautiful music out of the piano – could caress and cajole previously unknown measures of joy from her body.  Accustomed only to rough men intent on their own enjoyment, it seemed impossible that the Phantom could even be part of the same human and mortal race.

 

And she, in turn, taught him what pleasures he might derive from her touch, her lips, and her tongue and of course, the deepest crevasse of her being.

 

They explored one another’s bodies, taking their time, neglecting all other pursuits and studies in favour of this delicious new subject. 

 

He marveled at her tiny yet perfectly proportioned hands and feet, her waist which he could almost encircle using both hands, her ripe swelling hips and buttocks, her pert breasts with pink nipples just a shade or two darker than the rest of her skin. 

 

She delighted in his deeply muscled arms and chest, the smooth alabaster of his skin and the fine down which covered it, so unlike the usual coarse scratchy hair most men sported all over their bodies.

 

One afternoon, languishing before the fire, their skins glistening with the sweat of spent passion, Talitha traced the scars which cross-hatched all over the Phantom’s torso with her fingertip.  They were old: silvery lines, not red-raw welts.  The result of many whippings sustained as a child at the hands of a cruel and sadistic master, the man who ran the freak show.

 

“How could you bear it?”  Talitha whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

 

“The pain from the beatings was nothing compared with the humiliation of displaying my flesh for people to stare and scream,” he murmured sleepily.  His drowsing state evaporated when he realized her distress.  “Shh, my love, it is in the past, it is nothing to me now.”

 

“I cannot bear the thought of someone harming you,” she wept, overcome with emotion.

 

The Phantom held her, stroking her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder.  At length she quieted but continued to cling to him, unable to let him go.

 

“No one will harm me again, I will not allow it,” he told her.  “I don’t believe _you_ would allow it either.  I believe you would fight like a tigress for me.”

 

“I would,” she promised.  “I will.”

 

“And _I_ will always protect _you_ ,” he said.  “My love.  My Talitha.”

 

“Erik…”

 

The Phantom’s lips cut her off, soft yet demanding and completely without compromise or question – he wanted and needed her.  And she was his, unequivocally and unconditionally.

 

#          #          #

 

And with the release of physical love came musical inspiration.  From a seemingly forgotten trunk in the storage area, the Phantom produced a beautiful violin.  Once he had tuned it to his satisfaction and plied the fine white horsehair of the bow with rosin, he stood before his enraptured audience of one and began to play.

 

If Talitha had marveled at his incredible skill on the piano, it was nothing compared to her astonishment at his expertise as a violinist.  She had never laid eyes on a violin before, never mind taken one in her hands and she suspected the wretched instrument was devilishly hard to master.  Yet the Phantom played as though the wood and ebony and catgut were extensions of his arms and his extraordinary mind.

 

When he had finished the piece he laid the instrument carefully aside and voiced a sigh of such deep satisfaction, it was as though he’d been days without water and finally had the opportunity to quench his thirst at the sweetest of springs.  Then he began to sing.

 

As his skill on the violin surpassed that on the piano, so too his vocal range surpassed anything Talitha had ever imagined.  Of course she was familiar with the voice of an angel which was capable of violent rage and tender eroticism; but mindful of her own inadequate singing voice, it had simply never occurred to her that the Phantom might possess an instrument of such magnitude.

 

Unaware of the tears of emotion coursing down her cheeks, or the dumbstruck and decidedly unintelligent look of stupefaction on her face, unaware of anything at all other than the heavenly voice which wove its way sinuously around her very being, Talitha sat stock-still.  Her hands useless wooden blocks in her lap.  She would have remained there for an eternity, starving to death before moving a muscle lest the beautiful singing cease.

 

Of course at length the singing _did_ cease and the Phantom gathered his mutely pleading Mistress into his arms.  He kissed her gently as his nimble fingers began to peel her clothes from her body.

 

“Why have you never sung for me before?”  Talitha murmured as her own numbed fingers regained their life and began helping him.

 

“I have never been so inspired to sing until now,” he answered simply, before scooping her naked in his arms and carrying her to his sleeping place.

 

 

 

 

 **  
Chapter 8 – Early Spring 1886   
**

Sitting up on the cushions, the blankets pooled in his lap and his torso bared, the Phantom frowned.

 

Talitha’s face unconsciously mimicked the expression.  “My love, something bothers you?”  She asked.

 

“It is not right,” he murmured, almost to himself.

 

“What is not right?”

 

The Phantom did not answer.  Instead he rose from the cushions, drew on his snug-fitting black trousers and began to pace the apartment:  barefoot, bare-chested, and bare-headed.  In spite of her concern, Talitha was struck by how magnificent he looked.  Long ago she had ceased to see his disfigurement.  All she saw was the grace in his movement, the confidence and arrogance in his bearing as he stalked back and forth, his strength mingled with his touching vulnerability and sensitivity.

 

“Do I displease you?”  Talitha asked, rising to cinch the belt of her silk robe.  “Are you unhappy?”  As he swept past her she placed a hand on his arm.  “Stop!”  She commanded.  “Whatever is the matter with you?”

 

“This is not right!”  He insisted again, gesturing towards the muddled bedclothes.

 

“Phantom,” said Talitha.  “Erik.  I do not understand…”

 

“All my life I have wanted to live like any other man,” he told her, still pacing.  “To dwell in an ordinary house, with a wife to take on Sunday outings and amuse during the week, a son to bounce on my knee and teach all the wonders of the world!  To live in the sun, not in the dark like a mole!  To live like an ordinary human being!”

 

Talitha was shocked.  Never before had he expressed any dissatisfaction in the life they lead, in their love and the relationship they had forged underground.  Suddenly it seemed as though their idyllic subterranean existence was about to crumble.  Her lips trembled, on the verge of tears.

 

The Phantom caught her expression and moved to embrace her.  “Do not vex yourself with an old man’s flights of fancy,” he insisted, smiling now and stroking her hair.  “We should of course begin with the smallest of steps!”

 

“The smallest of steps…?”

 

“The wife, I think,” smiled the Phantom, touching her nose with the tip of his finger.

 

Talitha shook her head which was beginning to spin and ache with his sudden mood swings.  “Erik…” she began, then stopped as her mind finished processing his words.  “Erik, are you proposing marriage?”

 

The Phantom laughed, his delight echoing around the apartment.  “My love, I believe I am!”  He exclaimed, lifting her into his arms and swinging her around.  “You are of course my Mistress and always will be, but it is not fitting that I treat you as a common concubine.”

 

“Erik, dear, I am your wife already!  In every way – our union is simply unsanctioned by the church!”

 

“Then we shall have our union ‘sanctioned by the church’ and I shall not take you to the bedchamber again until we are properly wed,” he informed her in a mock stern voice.

 

“Well,” replied Talitha, joining in with his banter.  “We must make preparations with proper haste as I cannot abide being neglected in the bedchamber simply out of deference to your belated sense of morals!”

 

The Phantom laughed again.  “Come then!”  He said.  “Dress yourself.  I shall locate a priest and the proper accoutrements.  You need only concern yourself with a bridal gown!”

 

#          #          #

 

While the Phantom left to run his own errands, Talitha consulted with a seamstress who, at the promise of a hefty remittance had vowed to put all other work aside and labour on Talitha’s gown untiringly until it was finished.  She was given two days to complete the work.

 

The seamstress took Talitha’s measurements, exclaiming over her tiny waist and pretty bust and promised a gown which would display both to maximum effect.

 

The Phantom consulted with a local priest who was offered a large donation to his parish to marry them with indecent haste, ignoring the proper conventions of a month and a day.  The finest jeweler in London was also visited by the Phantom.

 

#          #          #

 

That evening as they prepared to retire for the night, the Phantom lead Talitha to her sleeping place then kissed her chastely on the forehead before turning away.

 

“Erik!”  Talitha cried.  Grasping his hand, she turned him and searched his face, a bemused smile on her own.

 

“My love, did you think I was joking?”  He asked her.  “I will not lie with you again until we are properly wed!  Your gown will be ready in two days hence…”

 

“What does my gown matter?”  She cut in.  “I would marry you wearing only my shift!  My attire is not important, only the man I am marrying!”

 

The Phantom sighed.  He pushed her gently down onto her cushions and tucked the velvet robes around her as though settling a child into bed for the night.  She submitted, waiting patiently while he gathered his thoughts.

 

“Talitha,” he said finally.  “My love, the gown _is_ important.  A woman’s wedding day is important.  I cannot give you a fine banquet or many noble guests.  I cannot take you away on a glorious honeymoon to a tropical paradise.  I cannot bring back your dear mother so that she might see how beautiful you have become, how radiant you will no doubt be in your bridal gown.  I wish I could give you that, more than anything.”

 

A tear slid down Talitha’s face in response.

 

“But,” he continued, wiping away the tear.  “I can give you a proper bridal outfit that you can keep as a reminder of my love for you.”

 

Talitha smiled through her tears.  “As if I would need reminding.”

 

The Phantom smiled back and embraced her gently.  “Now, get some sleep”, he ordered.  “Two days and nights deprived of the pleasures of my flesh will do you no harm.”

 

“So you say,” grumbled Talitha, but she snuggled down into her cushions obediently.

 

“Oh,” the Phantom said carelessly, patting his jacket as though he’d just that moment remembered something.  “Perhaps _this_ will keep you amused until then.”  He handed her a black velvet box.

 

Opening it, Talitha caught her breath.  Nestled inside was a ring of exquisite beauty.  At the centre of the setting was a pigeon-blood ruby in the shape of a heart, surrounded by at least a dozen tiny diamonds.

 

“Erik,” Talitha breathed.

 

“Do you like it?”  The Phantom asked.

 

“It is beautiful! _You_ are beautiful!”  She exclaimed.  “But you have already given me your heart.”

 

“Well,” he replied.  “Now you have an engagement ring to match.”  He kissed her again and began moving across the apartment, extinguishing the candles as he went.

 

Talitha settled back into her bed, delighted with the sparks of fire the diamonds and ruby threw even in the light of the single candle which would be kept burning all night.  She turned on her side and stretched out her left arm so that she could fall asleep staring at the ring and beyond it, the Phantom as he settled into his own sleeping place.

 

#          #          #

 

Forty eight hours later, the Phantom kicked the door of the apartment open gently and carried his bride over the threshold. 

 

True to her word, the seamstress had created a gown of unparalleled beauty:  ivory duchess satin and rich guipure lace, cinched at the waist, laced up the back, the sleeves reaching the elbows and leaving the shoulders bare.

 

Tenderly, the Phantom deposited Talitha onto the gilt and velvet chair and produced a leather satchel bound with a black satin ribbon.

 

“A wedding gift, for my wife,” he smiled, handing it to her.

 

“Erik…”  She protested.

 

“Please,” he said.  “Indulge me?”

 

Talitha took the satchel and untied the ribbon, revealing the Phantom’s original sheet music, the composition he’d been working on for months.  She traced the words of the title with one finger.  To please him rather than out of any real desire to learn, Talitha had been concentrating on her reading of late, and now she was glad she had.

 

“The… Flight… Of… Talitha!”  She read, glancing up at her new husband, delighted and bemused.  “ _This_ is what you’ve been working on, all this time?”

 

“You inspire me,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear as he leaned close.  Talitha closed her eyes, her lips parting, anticipating his kiss.  Anticipating his sweeping her into a fierce and passionate embrace to consummate their marriage.

 

Instead, he took the sheet music from her hands and moved over to the piano.  As he began, Talitha recognized the composition, parts of which she had heard over and over as he’d worked on it.  But in its completed form she recognized the music he had played – the music which spoke of love and passion, timeless and ageless – whilst they’d made love that time, the time he had mastered his self control and released himself from the prison of his own mind.

 

Filled with love, Talitha listened to and experienced the music she had inspired the Phantom, Erik, her husband to write for her.  As he played, she moved to stand behind him, placing her hands lightly on his shoulders.  And when he had finished, he turned on the bench and took her in his arms.

 

“Talitha,” he murmured, burying his hands in her hair.

 

“Erik…” she managed before his lips were crushing hers and he was at last carrying her to their matrimonial bed.

 

 

 

 

 **  
Chapter 9 – The First Day of Summer 1886   
**

 

Talitha approached the old house, carefully stepping over the broken boards of the front porch, her feet automatically finding the safe places to step.  She knocked on the door then pushed it open.

 

“Hello?”  She called.  “Is anyone home?  Alice?  Mary?”

 

A handsome middle-aged woman appeared at the head of the stairs.

 

“Hai, whose there?”  She called.  “What do you want with us, m’lady?”

 

“Alice?”

 

The older woman paused in her descent and peered at Talitha, recognition beginning to dawn in her eyes.

 

“Tilly?  Is that you?”  She cried.  “Tilly!  Come and give yer Aunty Alice a hug, why I barely recognized ya, girl!”

 

“It is good to see you!”  Said Talitha, hugging her warmly.

 

“Tilly!”  Squealed a voice, a tiny young woman running down the stairs and hurtling into Talitha’s arms.  “We thought you were dead, where have you _been_?”  She demanded.

 

“Hello, Mary.”  Talitha embraced her friend.  “I’ve come to see Alice, I need her expertise.”

 

“Oh good God, girl,” Alice rolled her eyes.  “You’ve gone an’ gotten yerself a bastard bun in the oven ain’t you?”

 

“Alice!”  Mary gasped in shock.  “Look at her hand!”  She held her friend’s left hand up to the older woman, showing off Talitha’s engagement ring and wedding band.  “Tis no bastard child, she is married!”

 

“Well isn’t that a pip?!”  Exclaimed Alice, taking a closer look at the rings.  “You’d best keep them hidden around here, Tilly, those pretties would feed us for a bloomin’ month, so they would!”  She gestured toward the room which would have served as a parlour had the house been in proper working order.  “Come on then, love, let Aunty Alice take a look at ya.”

 

Alice palpated Talitha’s abdomen, inspected her tongue, smelled her breath and questioned her extensively.

 

“Well, no doubt about it, deary, you are with child!  About three months along I shouldn’t be surprised.  You’ll deliver close to Christmas.”

 

Talitha smiled radiantly.  “Erik will be so pleased!”

 

“ _Erik_ is it?”  Alice asked, returning her smile.  “And what does _Erik_ do?”

 

“He’s a musician.  And a composer.  An architect, a teacher, a singer, he is a genius!”  Talitha gushed.  “And he is the kindest, the gentlest of men!”

 

“And rich to boot,” added Alice, looking pointedly at Talitha’s fine clothes and jewelry.

 

“He sounds like the man of my dreams!”  Mary sighed.

 

“You forgot the most important thing,” said Alice with a bawdy wink.  “What’s he like in the bed-chamber?!”

 

“Alice!”  Exclaimed Talitha, shocked by the older woman’s cheek.  “A lady does not speak of such things!”

 

Alice snorted.  “Oh aye, and since when did _you_ claim to be a lady, Miss Oh So High and Mighty?”

 

Talitha lifted her chin.  “Since Erik,” she said simply.

 

“And he knows about your sordid past, does he?”

 

“He knows everything about me, and I about him.”  Said Talitha tartly.

 

“Well, you certainly done well for yerself, no one can argue with that,” conceded Alice.

 

#          #          #

 

Talitha’s pregnancy progressed normally.  Her waist thickened as her belly swelled, and her bodices became uncomfortably tight as her breasts filled out as well.  She laboured with a needle and thread so that an entirely new wardrobe would not be necessary, but in the back of her mind she knew that alterations would go only so far before she would have to abandon her fashionable gowns in favour of looser garments.

 

The Phantom, already driven to distraction by his young wife’s nubile body and his blossoming sexuality which had lain dormant for so long, was completely unable to keep his hands to himself in her presence.  His need to constantly caress her ever-expanding belly and weigh her newly ripened breasts with his hands in gentle astonishment lead to more intimate caresses, and the day’s project would be abandoned in favour of increasingly erotic pursuits.

 

As Talitha’s belly grew they became innovative in their positioning and techniques of lovemaking, resulting in occasions in which they were reduced to fits of hilarity at the absurdity of the situation.

 

“I am sorry, my love,” gasped the Phantom one afternoon in late November.  “Your posture reminds me of nothing so much as a bitch in heat!”

 

“Loathsome dog!”  She cried in mock outrage.  “You are not fit to stud a fine bitch such as myself!”

 

“No indeed Mistress, I am not,” he replied solemnly, caressing their baby’s small rump through her belly.  “And yet, the fruits of our passion lie within.”

 

Talitha sighed blissfully and placed her hand over his.  “And he shall be the perfect little prince!”  She told him.

 

The Phantom hid his concern at her words.  “I am certain my mother had the same thought,” he murmured.

 

 

 

 

 **  
Chapter 10 – Christmas Eve 1886   
**

 

The Phantom looked up as the doctor appeared in the alley carrying the bulls-eye lantern Talitha had taken from the entrance so long ago.  He set it down in the snow and began wiping his hands with a cloth.

 

“Ah, there you are my good man!”  The doctor bellowed cheerfully.  “Bit of an odd sort of a place to deliver a baby, eh what?  Never attended a woman in child-bed in the basement of a theatre before.  Takes all types though, I shouldn’t wonder.  Why Our Lord Jesus Christ was born in a stable, was he not?  Shame about your poor wife, eh what…” the doctor trailed off, shaking his head.

 

“What did you say?”  The Phantom growled.

 

“Your wife, dear fellow” repeated the doctor.  “Damned shame, pretty little thing…” he was cut off by a gloved hand to his throat, the Phantom having lifted him bodily into the air and slammed him against the side of the building.

 

“Oi there, what’s going on?!”  Shrilled a voice.  “Leave him be, M’Lord!  He’s a doctor of medicine, so he is, and he just saved the life of your wife and your son!”  Alice’s fists beat against the Phantom’s back.

 

“Talitha,” the Phantom choked.  “She’s alive?”

 

“Of course she is you great fool!”  Cried Alice.  “Now let him down before you throttle the poor man to death!”

 

“And the child?”

 

“Him too, right as rain, ten fingers and toes and all,” Alice insisted.

 

The Phantom released the doctor who gasped for air and massaged his bruised throat.  “Sorry old man, should have clarified,” the doctor rasped.  He coughed, spat a gob of blood-streaked phlegm into the snow and tried again.  “Your wife is indeed alive.  She delivered a perfectly healthy little boy, as your good lady midwife here told you, ten fingers and toes and everything where it ought to be…” he broke off, coughing again.

 

“Then what, pray tell, is the ‘damned shame’?”  The Phantom asked through clenched teeth, his hands balled into fists.

 

“Why, just a shame she won’t be able to have another,” said the doctor, his tone implying that this was obvious.  “Pretty little thing should be able to produce lots of pretty little babies for you both, but I’m afraid the birth of that little blighter damaged her works rather beyond repair!”  The doctor chuckled.  “It was a near thing as it was, she’s lost a fair amount of blood.  She’ll require careful nursing and I shouldn’t think she’ll be able to nurse the child herself, she’s too weak you see.  Needs all her energy for healing, can’t be worried about making milk on top of that, eh what?”

 

The doctor’s cheerful tone and blasé description of Talitha’s near-death experience grated on the Phantom.  Brilliant medical practitioner he may well be but his bedside manner left much to be desired.

 

“So,” continued the doctor.  “You’ll have to find a wet-nurse for the boy, and another nurse for your good lady, and if I were you…” here the doctor winked “… I’d be getting down on my knees and thanking the Good Lord your wife is not as fragile as she looks!  Eh?!  Tenacious little thing!”

 

The Phantom closed his one good eye.  “You have no idea,” he murmured.

 

“Excellent!”  Bellowed the doctor.  “I’ll just take my payment and be on my way then!”

 

“Of course, good doctor.”  The Phantom had regained his usual poise and dropped a purse of coins into the doctor’s outstretched hand.  “I think you’ll find that more than covers your expenses.”

 

Without bothering to check whether the doctor found his payment acceptable, the Phantom turned on his heel, his cloak swirling around him, and hurried into the catacombs.

 

In the apartment the stench of spilled blood was strong.  The soiled bedclothes lay in the corner where Alice had left them to deal with later.  In her sleeping place lay Talitha, her skin pale almost to the point of translucence, and in her arms was a tiny bundle into which she was cooing and singing an off-key lullaby.

 

The Phantom’s face became tender and soft, and he winced slightly at the discordant singing.

 

“Erik!”  Talitha called in a whisper.  “Come and see!  He is beautiful, he looks just like you!”  She lifted the swaddling-clothes away from the infant, who flailed his tiny fists and mewled as the cool air touched his skin.

 

The Phantom worried briefly that Talitha had become touched in the mind as a result of the traumatic birth, mostly because he could see no resemblance between himself and this tiny pink creature.  His little features were puffy and slightly squashed from their journey down the birth canal, but they were still perfectly formed.  Two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth.  Round skull, skin like that of a peach.  No disfigurement whatsoever.  Then it occurred to him that firstly, Talitha simply did not see his own disfigurement anymore and secondly, as a new mother she could distinguish similarities between the babe and his parents that no one else would see.

 

“He is beautiful,” the Phantom agreed finally.

 

“What will you name him?”

 

The Phantom was taken aback.  _Name him?_   “I… I had not thought of a name,” he said.

 

Talitha smiled.  “Shall I assume you do not want to give him your ‘cursed Baptismal name’?”  She asked, her eyes twinkling.

 

“You may assume so, yes,” he said dryly.  He gazed at the boy, deep in thought.  “There was another unfortunate boy living and… working… for the freak-show I was forced to perform in.  He was younger than me and a sensitive, intelligent child.  My affliction affects only my skull, as you know, but his seemed to be internal as well.  He was never strong and healthy as I was, and he died when I’d known him only a year, but he was the only friend I have ever had… until you, my dear.”  He smiled.  “I should like to honour his memory by giving our son his name.”

 

“Of course.”

 

The Phantom stroked the child’s cheek and his smile grew wider as the baby turned his head in instinctive response to the touch.

 

“Nicholas,” he whispered.

 

“Nicholas,” Talitha murmured.  “Beautiful baby Nicholas, will you have your father’s blue eyes or my dark ones?  Will you play the piano, and speak many languages, and build fine houses?  I think so!”  Her cooing words drifted back into the lullaby she’d been singing.

 

The Phantom stroked her damp hair as her eyes slipped shut, singing herself to sleep.  He tucked the blankets around her carefully, kissed her tenderly on each closed eye, touched the infant’s cheek, then sighed and went to find Alice.

 

“Madam, I am in your debt,” he told her.

 

“Me sir?  No sir, ‘twas the doctor who saved her life,” replied Alice.  She gathered the soiled bedclothes together and bundled them into a large basket to take to the nearest water pump.

 

“I disagree,” countered the Phantom.  “You knew what she needed when I did not, and you fetched the right doctor…”  His lips pulled themselves into a moue of disgust.  “Unfortunate though his manner may be, he is clearly the best in his field.”

 

Alice snorted.  “I fetched the only doctor I knew who would ask no questions,” she told him.

 

“All the same, my wife is alive and I wish to thank you.”  He moved to the bureau and took an item from the silver jewelry box.  “Would you take this as a token of my appreciation?”  Into Alice’s palm the Phantom pressed a beautiful diamond ring.  “It belonged to a dear friend of mine.”

 

Alice gasped, then shook her head and tried to give the ring back.  “Please sir, I couldn’t take this!  It is too much!  And if it is sacred to you…”

 

“The past must be left in the past,” the Phantom told her firmly.  “Besides which, I know the money this piece will fetch will feed you and yours for at least a month, perhaps longer if you are frugal.”

 

“Aye, ‘tis true,” sighed Alice, holding the ring up into the light.  It would be a shame to have to sell it, she thought.  It looked almost like a flower: one large diamond in the middle surrounded by eight smaller diamonds.  The slim band was engraved with a single name but Alice had not the education to read it.  “As you wish, sir.”  She said, tucking the ring into her pocket.

 

“I also wish to offer you employment,” the Phantom went on.  “Talitha is weak, she needs careful nursing and the child must be tended to as well.  As a midwife you are better equipped than I to take care of these things.  You will be well paid, of course.”

 

“Of course,” echoed Alice, accepting on the spot.  “I heard the doctor mention the need for a wet-nurse, I shall attend to that also…” she laughed out loud as she caught the look of skepticism on the Phantom’s face.  “Oh not me, you silly man!  These old tits have not the capacity to satisfy a hungry infant any longer.  Good Lord man, Tilly said you were a genius – perhaps all that shagging has turned you into an imbecile!”

 

The Phantom winced at her vulgarity.  Alice cackled.

 

“I have a girl in my squat that lost her bastard child not three days ago; her milk will still be flowing, so it will.  If you can spare my expertise for an hour or so, I shall tend to these sheets and fetch the girl to feed young Nicholas – yes, I heard you name him!”  She told him, and then went about her chores and errands.

 

The Phantom shook his head.  _That one will bear watching_ , he thought.

 

#          #          #

 

Tears flowed down Talitha’s cheeks as she watched Mary nursing her son.  The younger girl stroked Nicholas’s fuzzy head as he fed, smiling tenderly, but with tears in her eyes as well.  Mary wept for her lost baby.  Talitha wept that she was unable to feed and sustain her own child.

 

“That day I came to see Alice,” Talitha said quietly.  “You were with child even then.”

 

“Yes,” Mary whispered back.  “Though I did not know it.  The baby came before ‘twas her time, poor skinny wee thing…” the tears spilled over her lids and down her cheeks, pattering onto Nicholas’s head.  Gorging himself on Mary’s rich milk, he did not seem to notice.  “I named her Elizabeth – ‘twas my mother’s name.  I buried her when she was but a month old, and still a month before she should have even been born.”

 

“I am so sorry, Mary,” said Talitha.

 

“’Twas for a reason, I see now,” said Mary.  The baby had fallen asleep, milk trickling from the corner of his tiny mouth.  She handed him back to his mother and changed the subject.  “Your husband is a kind man,” she said.  “He plays beautifully.”

 

“He does,” agreed Talitha, inclining her head in the direction of the piano.  A slow, lullaby-like version of “The Flight of Talitha” flowed from the Phantom’s fingers and the keys.  She was beginning to think of it as “Nicholas’s Cradle Song”.

 

“And he is very handsome…” Mary went on, blushing furiously.  “Only why does he obscure such a finely-made face with a mask?”

 

Talitha smiled indulgently.  It had not taken long for Mary to develop a childish infatuation for her husband.  He had been charming and kind to her, if a little aloof.  But Talitha could see the girl held no real interest in him.  He had eyes only for his wife and son.  Clearly, he respected both Alice and Mary for the roles they played in the ever-expanding household under the theatre, but he had no intention of replacing Talitha with one of them in his bedchamber while she was confined and convalescent.  For as long as she was unable to make love with him, he would remain chaste.

 

“His face is not entirely ‘finely-made’,” Talitha explained gently.  “He has an affliction he wishes to hide from the world.”

 

“Oh?!”  Mary shuddered, intrigued and slightly horrified.  “Does he ever remove the mask?”  She whispered, casting a furtive glance in the direction of the piano.

 

 _Only when we make love_ , Talitha thought, smiling inwardly.  “Occasionally,” she said out loud.  “I shouldn’t expect him to do it around you or Alice though, he can be… shy about some things.”

 

“Of course,” murmured Mary.  She rose from Talitha’s bedside and took the baby to change his napkin and settle him in his cradle.

 

Talitha glanced over at the piano again and smiled when she realized the Phantom was looking at her.  He smiled back, ended the piece and rose to join her, taking the place Mary had just vacated.

 

“He _is_ very handsome,” Talitha murmured, caressing his cheek.  “With or without the mask.”

 

#          #          #

 

Two weeks after Nicholas’s birth, Alice pronounced Talitha well enough that her strict confinement could end.  The older woman helped her to bathe and don a clean shift, and she was permitted to shuffle to the sitting area to a chair by the fire.  Bored and frustrated, Talitha demanded books to read, much to the Phantom’s astonishment, and a quill and parchment.

 

A month after that, still stiff and sore but beginning to heal and become stronger, she began helping Alice and Mary with their chores, and with Nicholas.  The baby was awake for longer periods now and while he was yet to bestow his first smile on anyone, he watched everything keenly from where he was propped against a cushion on his mother’s bed.

 

Talitha wished the Phantom felt comfortable enough around Alice and Mary to remove his mask, so that the child might become familiar with his father’s true face.  And she had not seen him bareheaded since the last time they’d made love together, her belly and breasts swollen, the child still curled and sleeping within.  Her love for him was such that she yearned to see his true face, not just the mask he presented to all and sundry.

 

Three whole months after his son’s birth, after a brief consultation with Alice, the Phantom ordered the older woman and Mary out of the apartment one morning with instructions to take Nicholas with them and not return until sunset.  Giggling and exchanging knowing glances, Alice and Mary dressed the baby warmly and headed out, their purses bulging with coin the Phantom had pressed on them as additional incentive not to return too early.

 

When they were alone, the Phantom took Talitha’s hand and gently led her to the piano, inviting her to sit next to him.  Talitha alternated between watching his hands and his face as he played; first Mozart, then Debussy, and finally his own compositions.  When she could stand it no longer, she reached up to caress his cheek then gently removed his mask so she could gaze upon his true countenance.

 

“Talitha,” he breathed, his fingers faltering on the piano.

 

“The music, Erik,” she teased him, her breath in his ear.

 

“Oh, bother the music, woman!”  He cried, turning on her and sweeping her into his arms.  Staggering slightly, he carried her to his sleeping place and laid her gently down, his blue eye raking her body with pure lust.  She reached for him and he fell on her, tearing at her clothes and crushing his lips against hers, forgetting to be gentle, forgetting everything but his all-consuming need to be one with her again.

 

Talitha responded with fervour, her own need as great.  She tore the wig from his skull and ripped open his shirt, scattering buttons across the floor.  He responded by laughing quietly in her ear.

 

“Lustful wench!”  He breathed, reaching under her skirt to tear off her stockings.

 

“Randy goat!”  She gasped.  The buttons from his trousers joined those from his shirt.

 

In short order she had freed him from the restraint of his trousers and guided him inside her, moaning in ecstasy.  He paused then, barely moving, to gaze down into her face.

 

“Talitha, I love you,” he whispered, his voice husky.

 

“And I you, my love, my Erik!”  She pulled his face towards her, kissing his misshapen and scarred cheek, his one perfect eyelid and finally his mouth.

 

Unable to hold his control any longer, the Phantom began moving inside her, thrusting deeply, gasping with every stroke until her cries of rapture pushed him over the edge.  He collapsed on her, still panting, their sweat mingling to stain what was left of their clothes.

 

After a while he removed himself and began to laugh.  Talitha eyed him askance, then looked around them and joined in his laughter.  Their clothes were completely ruined.  Still snorting, the Phantom removed what was left of his white shirt and black trousers, tossing them into the corner.  Then he helped Talitha to her feet and set about peeling the flayed gown from her body.

 

When they were naked, they lay together again, side by side, their bellies touching, their hands moving gently, caressing one another.

 

Talitha’s shrunken belly was striped with stretch-marks, still mostly purple but beginning to turn the silver they would stay for life.  Her buttocks and breasts were similarly marked.

 

“See, you are scarred like me now,” the Phantom said, tracing the marks with one finger.  “But you are scarred with love.”

 

“I would endure worse scarring for love,” she told him.  She frowned as she traced the familiar distortions of his skull.  “You must remove your mask more often, if not your wig.  Nicholas needs to become accustomed to the way you look.”

 

“Alice and Mary…”

 

“Also need to get used to it,” she finished for him.  “You cannot hide your true self forever, least of all from the people who love you.”

 

“They do not see me as you do,” he said.  “They will think me a monster.”

 

“They will be shocked at first, of course.  But they know you are a kind and gentle man, a talented musician, a genius in your own right.  A wonderful husband and father.”

 

“I do not want my son to fear me.”

 

“He is yet still a baby!”  Talitha exclaimed.  “He knows no fear!  He must learn to love your face before he’s old enough to learn to fear it.”

 

The Phantom ran the palm of his hand from her knee up her thigh, over her hip and the valley of her waist and finally to her breast, his fingertips brushing her nipples and distracting her.  She grasped his hand and held it away from her body.

 

“Erik,” she said, refusing to be distracted from the discussion.

 

He sighed.  “I shall think about it,” he said.  “Satisfied?”

 

Talitha smiled lasciviously and replaced his hand on her breast.  “Not even close,” she told him.

 

“Delilah…”

 

“Incubus…”

 

#          #          #

 

Their lovemaking continued throughout the day, pausing only to construct a picnic lunch of bread, cheese, olives and wine which they took back to bed and fed to one another.  The months of forced abstinence melted away as they explored and rediscovered one another’s bodies.

 

As evening approached, they sighed and began searching for fresh clothes to wear.  Talitha inspected their lustfully torn garments, hopeful they might be restored, but was disappointed and yet oddly satisfied that they were completely beyond repair.  She hid the evidence behind a loose stone in the wall.  Alice’s lewd and suggestive comments would be mortifying enough when she saw their fresh clothes, never mind the teasing that would ensue should she find proof of their complete and utter loss of control.

 

When the women returned, the Phantom was seated at the piano in his usual full evening dress, his wig in place, his mask lying on the bench next to him.  Sitting by the fire, Talitha caught Alice’s eye as she came through the door, touched her own face, and then nodded toward the Phantom.  She repeated the gesture with Mary.  Alice understood immediately and nodded.  Mary glanced at him and gasped, the blood draining from her face.

 

The Phantom, a picture of poise, ignored the girl’s initial shock.  “Ladies, did you have an enjoyable day?”  He asked.

 

“Not half as enjoyable as I imagine _yours_ was, M’Lord!”  Alice cackled, winking suggestively at Talitha, who winced.

 

Mary brought Nicholas who held his chubby arms out to his mother, smiling toothlessly.  Talitha eyed Mary’s milk-white cheeks as she cuddled the baby, smoothing his dark silky hair.

 

“He is still the same man,” she said gently.

 

“Of course,” Mary managed.

 

“We took our evening meal in town,” Alice said loudly, looking pointedly at Mary.

 

“Er, yes,” stammered Mary, her pale cheeks flushing.  She sprang to her feet and began to unpack one of the parcels they’d returned with.

 

“And we took the liberty of selecting and bringing home a light supper for you two,” Alice went on.

 

The Phantom joined Mary at the table.  She trembled, unable to meet his eye.

 

“That is unnecessary my dear, you are not required to wait on me,” he told her, staying her hands with one of his own.  When she gulped and looked up at him, he smiled gently.  “Why don’t you take your leisure by the fireside?  You have been tending my son all day, rest yourself.”

 

“Yes sir,” Mary whispered, scuttling back to the sitting area, her face pale with two hectic spots of red high on her cheekbones.

 

Talitha bounced Nicholas on her knee as she ate supper with her husband.  “You must be patient with her,” she told him.

 

“Yes,” he murmured, but he seemed disheartened and only picked at his food.  Talitha knew he longed to replace the mask and hide beneath the snowy white sanctuary which gave him the confidence to face the world.

 

With a sigh, she passed the baby to his father and he seemed relieved to have an excuse not to eat.  With a shriek of delight, Nicholas reached up to pat the Phantom’s malformed cheek, intrigued with the new texture and a colour other than alabaster in the skin of the doting angel who played the piano and violin so prettily to amuse him.

 

Talitha shot a look of relief at Alice, who answered with a satisfied nod as though it were she who had suggested the boy get to know the true face of his father.  It may as well have been the truth, the older woman was in complete agreement with Talitha on this matter, though she’d never voiced her opinion to her young mistress.  _I can only hope_ , thought Alice glaring sourly at Mary who was still huddled by the fire, her complexion like curdled milk, _this silly girl puts aside her horror and realizes she could do worse than to play nurse-maid to the son of such a rich and talented man._

 

Talitha finished her meal while the Phantom took Nicholas back to the piano, laughing indulgently as the infant leaned over to slam his small hands onto the keys.

 

“Marvelous, my son!”  He exclaimed as the discordant playing continued.  “We shall make a master pianist of you yet!”

 

Talitha smiled, certain that Nicholas was the one and only individual who would inspire mirth rather than rage from her husband at such common treatment of a musical instrument.  She was equally certain he’d keep his precious violin away from the child’s curious hands a while longer.

 

#          #          #

 

In the weeks which followed, although he clearly preferred to wear the mask, the Phantom allowed himself to be seen by the members of his small household without it.

 

The mask which had been a burden and a nuisance during his childhood had conversely become his sanctuary during his enslavement as a freak-show amusement, and in the decades that followed.  A sanctuary to such an extent that, previous to Talitha’s gentle coaxing, any request or demand that he remove it had been met with murderous rage and unimaginable grief. 

 

The depth of scarring his tortured childhood had afforded him was only now being healed with the patient love and respect of his new family.  His mother’s weary loathing and abuse, his Master’s sadistic greed, his own hatred of himself and the human race which had rejected him, these things began to melt away.

 

Mary’s shy efforts to overcome her childish distaste, and her effortless devotion to Nicholas…

 

Alice’s bawdy teasing counterpointed with her efficient management of the makeshift household…

 

Nicholas’s charming innocence and boundless joy and enthusiasm for all which was new to him…

 

Talitha’s courage, her gentle caresses and passionate embraces…

 

#          #          #

 

As his wife slumbered beside him, the Phantom laid wakeful and restless.  Silently he rose from their sleeping place, dressed warmly and escaped the catacombs to walk the dark London streets.

 

It had been weeks, if not months since he’d last ventured out.  The chill night air sharpened his mind, blowing away the cobwebs and he felt invigorated and strangely enthusiastic about being outdoors – something he hadn’t experienced since… since before the work had begun on the Paris Opera House, the _Opera Populaire_.

 

The Phantom stopped and looked out over the Thames, its ebony depths sparkling in the light of the gas-lamps.

 

“It isn’t right,” he murmured to himself.

 

As the sky lightened from black to indigo, as dawn prepared to break, turning the glistening waters of the river a murky grey, the Phantom came to a decision at last.

 

It wasn’t right, he knew it, that he should continue to enslave those close to him, to force them to live underground simply because it was the life _he_ had chosen.  They must be set free from the eternal darkness…

 

 

 

 

 **  
Chapter 11 – Spring 1887   
**

 

Their belongings were packed, a temporary residence had been located until more permanent accommodation could be arranged and a carriage waited for them in the street.  The Phantom stared uneasily around him, his insistence and surety of the last couple of months deserting him now that the moment of reckoning had arrived.

 

“Erik,” said Talitha, appearing by his side and tenderly caressing his cheek.  “The world has moved on since you were a child!  There are those out there who would still mock you, of course.  They’ll still fear and misunderstand and stare.  But there are those who are capable of looking past the disfigurement to see the real man inside.  The musician.  The artist.  The scholar.  The architect.  The composer.  The teacher.  The genius.”  She smiled as the list grew.  “And most importantly, the husband and father.

 

“Look at Mary!  And Alice!  Alice considers you a fine gentleman.  And Mary… why Mary is wondering where she can find her very own Phantom of the Opera!”

The Phantom chuckled softly at that, shaking his head.  He looked into the loving eyes of his wife, the woman who had always seen him whole.

 

“You are right of course, my love,” he said.  “You always are.  All I have ever wanted in the world is to live like any other man.  In an ordinary house, with a wife to take on Sunday outings and amuse during the week…”

 

“And a son to bounce on your knee and teach all the wonders of the world, yes I know,” finished Talitha.  “You can have all those things.  All you need is the courage to venture out into the sun.”

 

The Phantom nodded.  He cast a final glance around the now-empty subterranean apartment and swirled his traveling cloak around his shoulders, the final item left unpacked.

 

“The sun, then,” he said.

 

 

 **  
_TO BE CONTINUED…_   
**


End file.
